


The Betting Men

by dracogotgame



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Funny, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 12:33:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4137693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracogotgame/pseuds/dracogotgame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Draco and Hermione get pregnant at the same time, their husbands take it upon themselves to make a small bet or five. This was Mistake Number One.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Betting Men

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This fic contains MPREG.

**The scene:**  Break room, DMLE Headquarters at the Ministry of Magic.  
  
 **The opponents:**  Harry Potter, Specialist in Combat and Magical Weaponry. Ronald Weasley, Head of Tactical Operations and Strategy.  
  
 **The stakes:**  High. Very high.  
  
Seamus Finnigan (Head of Demolitions and Explosives) was this week’s mediator. He held solemn court at the cafeteria table. At his right sat Harry Potter, green eyes trained on his opponent. To his left sat Ronald Weasley, jaw tight and rhythmically tapping his wand against his thigh. A crowd of Aurors gathered around them, some whispering amongst themselves and others making last minute speculations on who would come out on top this time.  
  
So far, Potter had had a good run. Of course, he’d had the good sense to prepare himself for the tough road ahead. More than once, the Junior Aurors on the late shift had come across him, reading thick tomes with a  _Lumos_  charm hovering faithfully at his side, muttering to himself as he made notes upon notes. When the time came, his research paid off. From Month One to Three, Potter had consistently come out on top, manoeuvring every unthinkable crisis like he’d been doing it his whole life.  
  
But then slowly, things changed. All the research in the world couldn’t have prepared Potter for how truly stressful his situation would become. Slowly, he began to falter. The office assistants began whispering about burnout. Weasley saw his chance. Slowly but surely, he inched ahead. Potter attempted a recovery but it was too late. By the time he got it together, they were neck in neck for the top spot.  
  
And now, Month seven loomed ahead and the scales could tip either way.  
  
“You know the rules,” Seamus announced, racking up the parchment slips and putting them in a heavily charmed jar. Rigging the bets was unthinkable— especially this late in the game. Harry nodded shortly. So did Ron.  
  
Seamus nodded solemnly and cast a Sonorus on himself. “The weekly betting pool is closed,” he announced. “We’re compiling the results of this week’s stakes. Some of you— oh, who am I kidding—  _all_  of you have money riding on our contenders. Things might get a little...stressful. So, I formally request all of you to conduct yourself with the dignity and grace this event deserves.”  
  
There were murmurs of acceptance and Seamus nodded in satisfaction. “Brilliant. And now, we gamble! Whose pregnant spouse was the nightmare to end all nightmares this week? Harry, why don’t you go first?”  
  
“Gladly, Seamus,” Harry drawled, eyeing Ron with a rather smug smirk on his face. “As you know, Draco is in his third trimester now so things are getting  _intense_. Let’s just say I’m pretty confident about my chances this week.”  
  
A few cheers and scattered applause followed his confident declaration. Nott and Davies shared a high five.  
  
“We’ll see,” Ron muttered ominously. “Oh, we will see.”  
  
Seamus nodded approvingly and turned to him. “Ron, why don’t you tell us about your lovely wife? How is she faring?”  
  
Ron lifted his chin and stared Harry down. “Unlike some people, I’ll let the numbers speak for themselves,” he announced loftily.  
  
Zabini whooped approvingly. “Now there’s a man of action. Damn right the numbers will speak for themselves! Give it up for Granger’s uterus!”  
  
Ron spread his arms and basked in the deafening applause. Harry’s jaw clenched. It took Seamus ten minutes and multiple threats of calling the whole thing off before everyone settled down.  
  
“Okay, let’s get down to brass tacks,” he said, once order had been restored. “Harry, foot massages. How many and for how long?”  
  
“Five in the last week,” Harry reported. “And one was at four in the morning.”  
  
There was a series of impressed  _oohs_  from the spectators. Seamus dutifully jotted down Harry’s score on a clipboard (it had become hard to keep verbal scores after the first trimester). “Ron?”  
  
“Four,” Ron muttered grudgingly.  
  
“Point to Harry,” Seamus noted. “Now let’s talk tantrums. Give me the worst you’ve had this week.”  
  
This time, Harry hesitated. “Draco threw a fit after I asked him to eat healthier. He accused me of calling him fat.”  
  
“Mm, I suppose it will have to do,” Seamus muttered, frowning over the score. “Let’s say three on a scale of ten? Ron, you may proceed.”  
  
“She threw a lamp at me,” Ron reported triumphantly. “If it had hit me, I would’ve had to spend the evening at Mungo’s. And I didn’t even have to say a damn word this time.”  
  
“Ooh, nice one!” Seamus agreed. “Point to Ron.”  
  
Nott cursed and Davies muttered something about fifty Galleons.  
  
Seamus ruffled his sheets. “Let’s go big. Food. Give me disgusting, ghastly, unpalatable...Harry, go!”  
  
“Last week, Draco ate peanut butter sandwiches three meals a day.”  
  
“Really? That’s not so bad...”  
  
“With pickled salmon and apricot jam on the side,” Harry finished smugly.  
  
Seamus grimaced. “Ron, go for it. Although after that awful selection, I don’t really see the point.”  
  
Ron was silent for a moment. He took his time to cast a look at the crowd. Nott shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from fidgeting. Zabini rocked back and forth on his heels. When the dramatic tension built to a climax, Ron spoke one word.  
  
“Ketchup.”  
  
Harry laughed out loud. “Ketchup,” he snorted. “Is that the best you can do? My husband eats ketchup for breakfast! He puts it on everything. Merlin, Ron. The least you can do is try and keep up with...”  
  
Ron just smirked and studied his fingernails. “Oh, you don’t understand,” he cut in smoothly. “When I say ketchup, I mean exactly that. My wife eats nothing. But. Ketchup. All day.”  
  
Harry stopped laughing. “You’re bluffing!” he accused.  
  
Ron glared and slammed his fist on the table. “Like hell I am! I’ve got three hundred empty packets in my desk drawer right now!”  
  
“Packs or it didn’t happen!”  
  
“Go ahead and check! I dare you! I double dare...”  
  
“Gentlemen!” Seamus shouted, banging his fist on the table. “I  _will_  have order!” he announced, glaring at them until they subsided. “Ron, the committee is not asking you to present evidence at the moment. However, hold on to the packets just in case we need to revisit the case. Now, let’s move to the scores. Harry’s husband has shown some remarkable creativity and frankly, appalling taste in food this week. Ron’s presentation— though simple— is undeniably disgusting as well. This is a hard one but the committee is obliged to make a decision. We’re giving it to...”  
  
Every Auror in the room held his or her breath. Nott sat down shakily in a chair and Zabini’s eyes were closed as he muttered what sounded like a prayer under his breath. Dean tapped a quill against a table, the sound echoing like a thunderclap in the pin drop silence.  
  
“Ron,” Seamus announced.  
  
The room flared like a dragon egg on a hot coal.  
  
“What?” Nott yelled over the shouting and protests. “Are you blind, Ref?! In what world is ketchup more disgusting than...”  
  
“All rulings by the betting committee are final!” Seamus shouted back. “Final, Theodore! You have a problem; put a note in the Suggestions Box.”  
  
Nott subsided with one last growl and Seamus gave him a withering look before calculating the scores. “Close but not close enough,” he announced finally. “Sorry Harry, but Ron wins this round. This session is now closed. Divide your winnings. We’ll be back next Friday.”  
  
Cheers and applause went up. Ron punched a victorious fist in the air as chants of ‘ _Weasley! Weasley! Weasley!_ ’ rang out. Harry clenched his teeth and tightened his fist.  
  
Defeat. It stung.  
  
Ron’s condescending smile only made it worse. “Better luck next time, mate,” he mocked. “Then again, probably not, yeah?”  
  
Harry refused to dignify that with a response. It didn’t matter. There was always next week.  
  
And this time, Harry was determined not to lose.

* * *

Harry won the next round. Ron, the two after that. Then Harry made an unexpected comeback in the eighth month when Hermione inexplicably mellowed down a bit and started eating salads.  
  
The stakes were getting higher— Galleons went back and forth, broomsticks changed hands more often than reports. There were even reports of vacation days being pawned off for a spot on the betting chart, although the committee vehemently denied this.  
  
Whatever the case, the tension was building up for all parties. As for Harry and Ron— who had to deal with their increasingly uncomfortable spouses at home and the stress of competition at work— it was a wonder they managed to function at all.  
  
“Hey, I don’t want to say you’re fudging your numbers,” Ron started off one Thursday. “But yeah, you’re fudging your numbers!”  
  
Harry was tired, cranky and in no mood to be called a cheater. “If you can’t take the heat, get out of the game! I’ve earned every point on my board fair and square. Just because Draco’s pregnancy has been more intense than Hermione’s...”  
  
“ _Excuse_  you?! Our pregnancy could totally take your pregnancy in a fight!”  
  
“Yeah? Well,  _our_  pregnancy could drop kick your pregnancy over a fence!”  
  
“I’ve made midnight runs for everything from pickles to whipped cream, sometimes in the same night!”  
  
“I haven’t had sex in three months!”  
  
“Ha! Try five!”  
  
Ginny was perched the desk in Ron’s office, watching them have it out. She’d only stopped by to catch up over lunch but it was three in the afternoon, she hadn’t set foot in her office in hours and frankly, she didn’t think she could be blamed. Now this was  _real_  entertainment.  
  
“Our pregnancy would put your pregnancy in a headlock and punch it in the face!” Harry yelled.  
  
“Our pregnancy could wipe the floor with your pregnancy!” Ron howled back.  
  
“You two are going to make  _great_  fathers,” Ginny commented. She raised an eyebrow when they stopped snarling at each other and turned to her. “By the way, if Hermione and Draco ever find out about this, you two are dead meat.”  
  
That got their attention. Harry paled substantially and Ron swallowed audibly. Ginny rolled her eyes. “And you got the entire DMLE involved,” she elaborated. “Honestly, what is wrong with you two?”  
  
“It’s all in good fun,” Harry offered uneasily. “It just...gives us something to look forward to.”  
  
“Something to look forward to,” Ginny echoed dryly. “Kind of like—oh, I don’t know— the  _kid_  you should be looking forward to?”  
  
“Hey!” Ron protested. “We love our kids! I can’t wait to meet Hugo and I know Harry’s been dreaming of a family since he was a little girl.”  
  
Harry shot him a dirty look, but rallied to the cause as well. “Look,” he began. “When Draco and Hermione got pregnant, practically on the  _same day..._ ”  
  
“Technically, Mione conceived two days before Draco did,” Ron broke in. Harry and Ginny gave him a flat look each, which he summarily ignored. “Continue at your leisure.”  
  
Harry resumed his explanation. “It’s hard when you’re going to have a baby. Midnight runs, moodiness, cravings, emotions all over the place...you have no idea what it’s like to be at the receiving end of all that.”  
  
“Yes, I’m sure you two have really suffered,” Ginny contributed with an eye roll. “It’s not like your wife and husband had to deal with all the changes to their bodies and hormones and what not. Oh no, you two went to Honeydukes for a late night candy run! No, you should get Orders of Merlin, really.”  
  
Ron observed her and hummed in response. “I sense you’re not being sincere in your appreciation.”  
  
Ginny threw her arms up in defeat.  
  
“We started the bets in order to keep us on our toes,” Harry explained. “Do you think I want Draco to be uncomfortable? Hell, I know how hard this has been on him. I’m just trying to stay on my toes here. This little thing me and Ron have going on is just that. We’re trying to be better husbands by motivating each other, that’s all.”  
  
”And if it’s fun for everyone, isn’t that a win-win?” Ron reasoned.  
  
Ginny pursed her lips. “Well,” she offered reluctantly. “I suppose it’s not really hurting anyone.”  
  
“Exactly!” Ron grinned and jostled her playfully. “So...you’re not going to tell on us, are you? We’ll cut you in on some of the action.”  
  
“No, thank you,” Ginny replied, making a face. “But yeah, I suppose I’ll keep your sordid secrets.”  
  
“Brilliant!” Harry exclaimed gratefully. “And speaking of keeping things, we have another favour to ask.”  
  
He pulled out a stack of parchment slips from his desk drawer. Ginny’s eyes widened as they tumbled on the desk— assorted lists of foot rubs, massages, cravings and mood swings— all cross referenced and double checked.  
  
This week’s betting sheet.  
  
Oh no.  
  
“Absolutely not,” she declared firmly, backing away at once. “I am not helping you with this! I  _work_  with Draco at International Relations. Mione is my sister-in-law! I’ve seen what they can do with a wand! If you think for one second that I’m going to risk my neck...”  
  
“We can’t keep track of the scores anymore!” Harry protested. “And we need an impartial party to hold on to them. Ron keeps accusing me of rigging my numbers...”  
  
“...and Harry keeps rigging his numbers!” Ron contributed. “Just hold on to them ‘til Friday. Please?”  
  
Ginny scowled as they fixed pleading eyes on her. “This is under protest,” she muttered, shuffling the papers and stuffing them in her bag. “You both owe me big time.”  
  
She rolled her eyes at the delighted grins on their faces.  
  
Dolts.

* * *

To her credit, Ginny did guard the folder with her very life.  
  
For ten whole minutes.  
  
Then she went to help Hermione pick out the colours for Hugo’s nursery and got a little distracted.  
  
“Calm down,” Ginny soothed, patting her sobbing sister-in-law on the shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, Mione. It’s all...”  
  
“Okay?  **Okay?!**  It’s orange. Orange, Ginny! My baby will spend his formative years inside a Chudley Cannons locker room!”  
  
Ginny rolled her eyes as Hermione descended into hysterical sobs again. “Now, sweetie,” she continued bracingly. “We’ll just change the spells a little. See?” She waved her wand and the ghastly orange (Ron’s choice, she’d bet her last Galleon on it) faded away to a calming baby blue. Mercifully, Hermione seemed to approve.  
  
“Oh, that’s nice,” she murmured, settling down gingerly in a chair.  
  
Ginny smiled fondly and stroked her massive baby bump, delighting in the slight kick she felt. “Oh, he’s a Chaser alright,” she cooed.  
  
Hermione started to chuckle, only to grimace when Hugo made his presence felt again. “Try Beater,” she replied. “Now I just have to convince him that my kidney is not a Bludger.”  
  
Ginny winced in sympathy. “Is there anything I can do?”  
  
“Some ketchup would be nice,” Hermione mumbled longingly. “We’re all out.”  
  
Ginny of course, selflessly volunteered to get some. “Be back soon,” she promised, giving her a quick hug before Disapparating.  
  
“Ginny, wait! You forgot your...”  
  
But she was gone.  
  
Hermione huffed and waddled over to retrieve the bag. Her nose wrinkled as she noticed the haphazardly stuffed papers wedged in among four tubes of lipstick, a hairbrush and possible a dozen keys. Really, the girl was more disorganised than Ron sometimes!  
  
So Hermione set herself on an organisational mission. Ginny would thank her later, she decided as she pulled the sheaf of papers out and started sorting them...  
  
...until she saw her name on one.  
  
Hermione paused and took a moment to actually read the papers.  
  
Her eyes widened with every word. Her slim fists clenched around the paper, effectively smudging Ron’s score. Her jaw dropped and a screech of sheer outrage escaped her.  
  
“Those  **gits!** ” she shrieked, marching over to the Floo and throwing a fistful of powder in the flames. “Godric’s Hollow!”  
  
“Hermione,” Draco greeted as his face appeared in the flames. “To what do I owe the...”  
  
“Come over.”  
  
“What for?”  
  
“Come over  _now_ , Draco,” Hermione repeated through clenched teeth. “Trust me, you need to see this.”  
  
Draco’s brow furrowed but he nodded. “I’ll be right over.”

* * *

The room had been a soothing baby blue when Draco arrived. When Hermione handed him the folder and he read through the first few pages, the walls turned a furious red. Now, they were alternating between jet-black, poison green and scarlet every five seconds and Hermione couldn’t find it in herself to blame Draco’s out-of-whack magic. Not when she was seething with rage herself.  
  
“I will kill him,” Draco hissed as he paced the room, one hand on his swollen stomach. “Slowly and painfully. Then I will resurrect him and do it again!”  
  
The walls turned an electric purple.  
  
“Unbelievable,” Hermione hissed, thumbing through the folder again. “We have to be married to the two most brainless, thoughtless, insensitive gits on the ruddy planet! I swear to Merlin, when I get my hands on Ron he’s going to...”  
  
“Mione, we’re here!”  
  
Hermione and Draco froze.  
  
Ron barrelled in a second later, with Harry right behind him.  
  
“I invited Harry to take a look at the nursery,” Ron explained cheerfully. “He wants to start on...oh.”  
  
Harry yelped as he barrelled right into Ron, who had frozen in fear. “What the...Draco!” he exclaimed, catching sight of his husband. “What are you doing...oh.”  
  
It took them a moment or two to realise just what they had walked into. Ron took in the look of utter rage on his wife’s face and took a step back on instinct. Harry noticed the red-black-green motif of the wall, seemingly changing in tandem with the flashes of anger in his husband’s eyes. And then they noticed the folder, tightly clenched in Draco’s fist.  
  
“Harry,” Ron whimpered.  
  
“Don’t look back,” Harry managed, backing away slowly. “Just run.”  
  
The door slammed shut behind them. Hermione pocketed her wand and cast a death glare at the cowering men.  
  
“You two,” she hissed, “aren’t going anywhere.”

* * *

Harry’s ears were ringing and he felt like shite. Ron didn’t seem to be faring much better. They were both cornered, backed up against a sofa as their pregnant spouses unleashed hell on them. This was particularly bad news considering that said spouses were perfectly capable of kicking their respective arses on a good day. With the power of their combined pregnancies behind them — not to mention, sheer adrenalin fuelled rage— Harry and Ron didn’t stand a chance.  
  
“...so humiliated in my entire life!” Draco raged as he waddled across the floor. “The entire DMLE has been betting on my pregnancy!”  
  
“Love, please...” Harry attempted.  
  
 **“DON’T YOU DARE ‘LOVE’ ME, POTTER!”**  
  
Harry shrank in his seat with a whimper. Draco favoured him with one more sneer and stormed off to retrieve the folder again— no doubt to stoke his bloodthirsty rage some more.  
  
His departure gave Hermione an opportunity to take the floor. Ron paled as she turned to him with fire in her eyes.  
  
“You insensitive, irresponsible prat! Of all the boneheaded stunts you’ve pulled, Ronald Bilius Weasley! I’ve been suffering to bring our child into the world and you’ve been making bets with your colleagues over  **my misery!** ”  
  
Ron gulped audibly. “In our defence,” he tried, “it was all very respectful. We conducted ourselves with grace and dignity and...”  
  
“You’ve been making bets on how often  **we go to the bathroom?!** ” Draco howled, brandishing the folder.  
  
Ron cowered on the couch as the walls flared an electric red again. Harry summoned all his Gryffindor courage to the cause. If he didn’t get at least one of them calmed down, the house would probably collapse around them.  
  
“Love,” he tried, approaching his seething husband cautiously. “I understand why you’re angry, but...”  
  
“But what, Potter?” Draco spat. “Are you seriously going to stand there and justify  _this_? You’re going to be a father any day now! This is your idea of responsibility? Did you even care about what I was going through or did you just cackle gleefully and make a note in your little score-chart every time I had a sore back and aching ankles?”  
  
Harry stared at him, utterly horrified. “How can you say that?” he cried. “I love you! And I love our baby, Draco. You know that! This was just...we weren’t thinking. I admit it, but you can’t think that I would ever...”  
  
Draco held a hand up to silence him. “I don’t want to hear it,” he said coldly. “I’m...I’m  _furious_  right now, Harry. This is...this is too much.”  
  
Harry stared in abject dismay as Draco’s eyes went teary. He felt like utter scum. “Draco, please,” he said softly. “I only wanted to make this easy on you. This whole betting this is...it’s stupid and insensitive and it was wrong. But I swear I only did it because...I don’t know. I guess it was easier to tell myself I was doing everything right when I got points for it. It was stupid and selfish and I can’t tell you how sorry I am. Just...please don’t cry.”  
  
“I’m not crying!” Draco snarled, prompting him to take another step back. “It’s just the s-stupid hormones again. Oh look, another ten points for you!”  
  
“Stop it,” Harry implored desperately. “Please, just tell me what I can do. I’ll do anything to make it up to you, I swear. Anything, Draco. Just say the word.”  
  
He reached out to pull Draco in his arms but his husband pushed him away. “Just stay away from me for a while,” Draco muttered, heading back to the Floo.  
  
In minutes, he was gone.  
  
Harry stared after him, looking utterly aghast. Then his shoulders slumped and he followed Draco’s footsteps to the Floo.  
  
“You know, Mione,” Ron began in the wake of their departure. “I understand if you’re feeling emotional too. I just want you to know I’m here for you and...”  
  
Hermione’s eyes narrowed and she hefted a lamp.  
  
Ron ran for his life.

* * *

The next day was harrowing.  
  
Harry had spent the night on the couch and his back had certainly not appreciated it. Draco had barely said two words to him this morning and one of them was ‘jackass’. As he shuffled into the office— silently ignoring the protests of his mangled spine— he ran into Ron.  
  
“What did you get?” Ron mumbled, rubbing his eyes blearily and pouring out a jug of coffee.  
  
“Night on the couch and the silent treatment,” Harry reported dully. “I’ve never seen him this mad before.”  
  
“I’ll take a little passive aggressiveness any day,” Ron grumbled, rubbing his forehead. “Mione has excellent aim.”  
  
Harry chuckled dryly and shuffled over to join him at the table. “Mate, maybe we should call it even and declare a tie?”  
  
Ron heaved a sigh of relief. “Yes, please,” he mumbled. “It was so not worth it.”  
  
“We made our pregnant partners cry. And in your case, homicidal,” Harry sighed. “We’re the worst.”  
  
“The absolute worst,” Ron agreed. “When Hugo’s has his own kids, you know what I’m going to tell him to do? Anything but this.”  
  
They exchanged sheepish smiles. At least they were still in this together. “So, that’s settled,” Harry declared. “No more bets, the pool is officially closed.”  
  
“Agreed,” Ron said with a grimace. “I guess we should break the news to the rest of the office. I can think of some people who are going to be extremely disappointed.”  
  
“Seamus will get over it,” Harry replied resolutely. “We have to do the right...”  
  
And that’s when the Howler flew in.  
  
“Take cover!” Ron howled. He grabbed Harry’s arm and pulled him under a desk, hastily casting a Muting Spell to protect their hearing.  
  
The rest of the office wasn’t so lucky.  
  
 **“YOU INSENSITIVE LOUTS!”**  
  
There was some screaming. A couple of people scrambled for cover. Seamus yelped and flattened himself against the floor. Zabini hid behind a potted fern.  
  
And the Howler continued to tear a strip off England’s Finest, one Auror at a time.  
  
 **“...HUNT YOU DOWN ONE BY ONE!”**  Draco raged.  **“NOT ONE OF YOU WILL LIVE TO REGRET IT! NOT ONE! THAT MEANS YOU, NOTT! THINK ABOUT THAT THE NEXT TIME YOU BET ON THE SIZE OF MY ANKLES!”**  
  
Theo whimpered as plaster fell from the ceiling, cowering under a DMLE Survival Training Guide.  
  
 **“AS FOR YOU, SEAMUS FINNIGAN!”**  Hermione joined in.  **“I WILL HAVE WORDS WITH HANNAH, I PROMISE YOU! IF I DON’T GET YOU BANNED FROM THE LEAKY CAULDRON FOR LIFE, MY NAME IS NOT HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER-WEASLEY!”**  
  
Seamus’ anguished howl was drowned out as Howler Draco resumed his diatribe.  
  
There were dire threats; some of them were very creative. Harry hadn’t known that the dungeons in Malfoy Manor were still operational. There was a good amount of lecturing too— admittedly, that was more Hermione’s expertise than Draco’s. All in all, they made a terrifying team and they sure as hell made their point.  
  
Twenty minutes later, the worst was over. The Howler blew a raspberry at them and disappeared in an explosion of parchment.  
  
It took another forty minutes to convince the brave souls at the DMLE that the danger had passed.  
  
“So, we’ve been thinking,” a shaky Seamus told Harry and Ron once they’d all calmed their nerves a bit, “maybe this whole betting thing was a bad idea.”  
  
“I was  _never_  in favour of it,” Dean put in quickly.  
  
“So crass,” Zabini sniffed. “I can’t believe you lot did that.”  
  
“Besides, we’ve got work to do,” Nott muttered. “Reports to make, missions to field, finding a new place because Draco knows where I live...”  
  
“So, it’s settled,” Seamus decided. “No more bets.  _Ever_.”  
  
The declaration was greeted with approving mumbles, much to Harry and Ron’s relief.  
  
“Well, that was easy,” Ron whispered to him.  
  
“Yeah,” Harry replied quietly. “It’s great.”  
  
Except for the fact that his husband had lost all faith in him, refused to speak to him or have anything to do with him. Harry sighed and went back to his case notes.  
  
One problem at a time, then.

* * *

**A few nights later:**   


  
“Harry. Harry, wake up.”  
  
Harry woke with a gasp and nearly fell off the couch. Draco steadied him with a firm hand, kneeling next to the couch with a hand on his belly.  
  
“Draco!”  
  
Harry grabbed hold of his husband on instinct. They had gone a week and a half without speaking to each other and he wasn’t sure he could take it anymore. He missed Draco so much, it physically hurt. He would beg if he had to, he would grovel and plead and swear to do better, if Draco would just talk to him again.  
  
“I’m so sorry,” Harry babbled. “I can’t take this anymore, Draco. I miss you and I need you and I can’t handle this fight any longer.”  
  
“Harry, I don’t...”  
  
“Please, just give me one more chance. I’d do anything for you and our baby. Please, just let me be here for you. Let me make up for being such an idiot and...”  
  
“Harry, listen to me. We...”  
  
“Just let me be a part of this again. I swear I’ll...”  
  
“Harry!” Draco hissed in pain and clutched his stomach again. “We don’t have...time for...your babbling! The baby’s coming.”  
  
Later— when he told this story over and over again— Harry would deny that his first thought was  _coming where_? Then he caught on and the panic hit.  
  
“What?! Now?!”  
  
“Oh, I’m sorry!” Draco snapped. He hissed and his grip tightened on Harry’s shoulder. “Is this inconvenient for you?!”  
  
“Not what I meant!” Harry blurted, jumping up at once. “Okay, okay. We’ll be fine. I’ll get your bag, we’ll go to Mungo’s and...and have a baby. Yeah. All in a day’s work. Easy as pie. Okay, we’re doing this! Let’s move!”  
  
Draco pursed his lips but offered a nod. “The bag’s in the...”  
  
“Closet, I know,” Harry replied. He was retrieving it as he spoke, tugging his shoes on, grabbing their papers and anything else he could think of. A part of him was panicking— borderline hysterical, actually. The other part was telling him to grow up and do what needed to be done. They were having a baby. Draco needed him. Merlin help him, Harry was going to come through for him one way or another.  
  
“Got it!” he declared, striding over to help Draco up. “Don’t worry, love. I’ve got everything here. Can you make it to the Floo? I promise everything will be alright soon.” He kept up a soothing stream of reassurances as he led Draco to the Floo. His heart was hammering and he was sure he was operating solely on adrenalin, but he fought harder than he’d ever fought to keep it together. This was it. This was the Big One.  
  
“Harry.” Draco halted in front of the Floo and stared at him with dark, fearful eyes. “I’m scared.”  
  
Harry gathered him up and kissed his forehead. “I’m with you every step of the way,” he promised fervently. “I  _swear_ you’re going to be okay. I’ll look after you, alright?”  
  
“I love you,” Draco said right before breaking off with a painful whimper.  
  
Harry just gave him one more kiss and herded him over again, ignoring his own impending sense of hysteria.  
  
 _Time to have a baby_ , he told himself firmly.  _It’s time to be a father._  
  
 _Oh, dear **God**._

* * *

Everything after that was a bit of a blur.  
  
There was a lot of screaming, cursing and sobbing. Well, Draco did the cursing and Harry covered the rest of it. He was quite sure the bones in his right hand were broken. The Mediwitch was nice enough to give him a Pain Relief Potion when Draco wasn’t looking. He’d been called an insensitive, randy ape who would never, ever touch Draco again, more times than he could count. At some point, his ‘overly large head’ drew his husband’s ire, as did the permanent ruination of Draco’s svelte figure. Attempts to soothe and cajole had only led to more of the said cursing and screaming.  
  
And just when Harry thought he couldn’t take it anymore— that he was going to collapse out of sheer uselessness— it was over.  
  
Now, in the tranquil silence of a private room in St Mungo’s, he looked down at what they’d brought into the world with a mixture of awe and disbelief.  
  
“He’s so tiny,” Harry whispered, tickling a small foot. “Hello, James. Hi. I’m your Dad.”  
  
The baby wrinkled his nose and snuffled into Draco’s chest. Draco shushed him and murmured soothingly. His eyes were still bleary and there was a small, dopey smile on his face— no doubt a lingering effect of the Pain Draughts— but Harry thought he’d never looked more beautiful.  
  
“You’re amazing,” he whispered. “What you did today was just...Draco, I might not have said it so many words but I hope you know that I’m in awe of you right now. You’re the strongest, bravest, most beautiful person I know. I’m the luckiest man in the world to have you and James in my life.”  
  
Draco smiled and leaned into him, resting his head against Harry’s chest. “You really came through for us today,” he said softly. “We needed you and there you were.”  
  
Harry’s heart clenched. “Always,” he swore, pressing a kiss to his exhausted husband’s head. “I’ll always be here for you. Both of you. And while we’re on the subject— at the risk of making you really, really angry again— I just want to apologise again for what I did. I was scared that I wouldn’t be a good father and it made me stupid. I hope you can forgive me.”  
  
Draco hummed thoughtfully. “Well, I won’t lie. I’m tempted to hold out a little longer. But this little boy,” he paused and pressed a soft kiss to James’s dark hair, “needs you a lot more than I need to be mad at you. So I suppose you’re forgiven. This time.”  
  
Harry’s heart soared and he dared to lean in for a kiss. The moment his lips brushed against Draco’s, everything in the world was alright again.  
  
They only broke away when a cautious knock sounded at the door.  
  
“The Healer said you were fine with seeing visitors,” Ron said, poking his head in. His eyes met Draco’s and he gulped. “But we can leave if...”  
  
Draco rolled his eyes. “Just come in, Weasley. Say hello to your new nephew.”  
  
Ron grinned in delight and practically barrelled in. Hermione followed at a more sedate pace, but her beaming smile said it all. Harry smiled and took their son from Draco, cradling him carefully.  
  
“Guys, this is James Malfoy Potter.”  
  
“Oh,” Hermione whispered reverently. She ran a gentle finger across James’s brow. “Look at him! Oh, he’s perfect.”  
  
“We thought so,” Draco agreed with a proud smile.  
  
Harry chuckled as Ron cradled James, a wide grin on his face. “Handsome lad, isn’t he?” he mused, chuckling when James yawned and waved his tiny fist about. “Looks like I owe you ten Galleons after all, Harry.”  
  
Harry frowned. “For what?”  
  
Ron blinked in surprise. “You don’t remember?” he exclaimed. “That was the first bet we made!” Harry shrugged and Ron rolled his eyes. “The day you told me you were going to have a baby you said you just  _knew_  it was going to be a boy. And I bet you ten Galleons it would be a girl. And then, Seamus overheard and...well, we all know what happened next.”  
  
“And yet,” Hermione drawled, “you’re still making bets.”  
  
Harry grinned and shook his head. “Mate, I appreciate it but I think we’ve both learned our lesson. No more bets on...”  
  
“I think you should collect.”  
  
Harry turned to Draco. “Really?” he blurted in surprise. “But I...”  
  
“Oh, go ahead,” Draco told him with a smile. “We’ll put it in his college fund.”  
  
Now that was an excellent idea. Ron grinned and shucked over Harry’s winnings, before going back to cooing over little James. Draco and Hermione spoke in hushed tones about feeding schedules and how to redecorate the nursery. Harry just watched them — his friends and his little family. For once, he was completely content.  
  
This was the single most perfect, soothing, calming moment of his entire...  
  
 **“Oh!”**  
  
Hermione’s shrill screech rang out through the room. Every man in the room froze in his tracks— with the exception of James, who started wailing. Hermione moaned in pain and clutched her stomach. A tell-tale puddle formed at her feet.  
  
“Her water’s breaking!” Draco was the first to react. “Get a Healer!”  
  
“Wha...?” Ron blurted, staring there in paralysed horror.  
  
“Weasley, she’s in labour!” Draco yelled in exasperation. “Get a Healer now! Harry, go with him. Hermione, you need to sit down. Here, just...what are you two still doing here? Stop gawking and  **go!** ”  
  
Harry snapped to action and grabbed Ron’s arm, propelling him towards the Healer’s offices. “Relax, mate,” he cajoled. “It’s not that hard.”  
  
A big fat lie. But Ron didn’t need to know that.  
  
Yet.  
  
“A father,” Ron mumbled, sounding like he’d been clocked in the head with a Bludger. “I’m...I’m going to...I...”  
  
“You can do this,” Harry interrupted bracingly. Ron just stood there, looking utterly terrified. Well, that was unhelpful. Harry racked his brains, trying to think of some way to get him functioning again.  
  
A thought struck him out of the blue. Could it work? Well, he could try.  
  
“You know what?” Harry said suddenly. “I bet you five Galleons you won’t make it through without fainting at least once.”  
  
Ron stilled and for a second, Harry thought he’d gone too far.  
  
Then his friend grinned, his blue eyes bright with challenge.  
  
“Make it twenty and you have a bet,” he replied confidently.  
  
Harry grinned to himself as Ron turned and ran down the corridor, yelling for a Healer.


End file.
